


Communion

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, High Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, smoking weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: Prompt: Fluffy dean or Jensen smoking weed plz, ty
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Communion

**Author's Note:**

> thank you mskathy for helping me out of my current writing bubble and into some fluff. Thanks marksmanfem for reading and raving and just getting it. Thanks brianarr for the same and for the green light. Love you ladies!

Dean draws on the pen long and slow. His eyes smile and close happily and I can just start to smell the Bubba Kush as it fills the air like the aroma of baked bread. 

After a still moment, he hands me the shiny, silver cylinder with a grin as smoke rolls from between his lips.

I accept the proffered item with a mirroring grin before taking an equally deep, languid drag.

We’re silent but for small huffs of smokey laughter as we pass the pen back and forth a few times. Finally, Dean sets it aside and reaches for me.

He pulls me into him, tucks me under his arm with a hum as he lounges into the corner of the sectional. His long legs sprawl, but he makes room for me. He always makes room for me.

When Dean has to be big, he uses his whole self. His body takes up space and his mere presence – he can make the darkest of demons shudder with his presence alone.

But Dean’s natural state is this – nesting, nuzzling, curled up and warm. He speaks softly and quietly. His voice isn’t always rough and hard.

He sings.

Right now, he’s singing _Golden Slumbers_ by The Beatles. It’s the simplest lullaby.

Dean makes me feel protected all the time. Physically, for sure – obviously. But he also makes me feel cared for, safe in my own mind.

His hands – the same hands I’ve seen thrust a blade into the guts of angels and demons – are tender, fingertips light but persistent as they slip under my tank top and splay over my belly.

“Once there was a way,” he sings quietly. “To get back homeward.”

His voice and touch warm me from the inside out – and the Kush doesn’t hurt.

“Once there was a way,” he continues, his fingers swirling patterns on my bare skin. “To get back home. Sleep pretty darling, do not cry.”

I close my eyes and draw a breath before finishing the last line with him.

“And I will sing a lullaby.”

Dean buries his nose in the nape of my neck and inhales deeply.

“Y’always smell so good,” he slurs a little and it makes me smile.

“I love it when you smoke,” I admit, burrowing back into him, hearing him groan and feeling him harden against my ass.

“Hmm,” he grunts quietly. “Yeah, I love it when I smoke, too.”

We both laugh.

He slides his hand upward to gently cup one of my breasts. They’re sore because it’s that time of the month, but his heat and grasp make me hiss with pleasure.

He chuckles in my ear and brushes a thumb over the thin yoga bra covering my nipple. “Sensitive?” he asks, pulling the shell of my ear between his lips.

I nod and squeeze my thighs together for friction. A burst of sensation like firelight shoots from between my legs through my entire body.

Sex with Dean is always really good. A lot of times it’s a rushed, life-affirming kind of thing. So when we have time, every touch is at once charged and grounded. And when we have time and are also able to imbibe? It’s metamorphic.

I shiver at the thoughts careening through my mind, and Dean drags the blanket we leave draped over the back of the couch to cocoon us.

I want him. I want him to make love to me, fuck me, anything he wants, but I want it just for us – no prying eyes of the bunker walls or books or the old recliner he pulled off someone’s curb to put in the Dean Cave.

Just to be his in our own little bubble.

No Sam, no Cas, no Impala, no Triumph. No Jack, asking innocent, painstaking questions. No pressure.

Dean slowly, carefully pulls my bra up over my breasts, tucks it around my collarbone and touches me so delicately and so purposefully, so intent to make me feel.

And it’s so much. It’s intense.

He palms one breast and squeezes as he circles the other nipple with the tip of one finger. Just light circles, clockwise then counter. It’s sending me off somewhere just as he holds me close.

He’s talking and I’m breathless. I hear enough. I hear his instructions to push down my sweats and his so he can “get inside.”

I hear myself beg, whimper.

“Sweet girl,” he says, his mouth damp and hot next to my ear. “Open up for me.”

As if I am ever not open and existing just for him.

Then he’s sliding inside me, heavy, thick, and hot.

I can feel every crest and bow of him.

He props himself on one elbow and uses that hand to lift my chin, my neck open wide, waiting for his lips and tongue and teeth as he slips his other hand between my legs to touch me.

He’s barely touching me, barely moving, but it feels like _so much_. I didn’t realize I was so wet but the sounds… ugh, the sounds.

“So hot and horny when you smoke,” he mutters, nipping at my jaw. “Haven’t even started and you’re gonna come.”

He pulls out and it’s like he’s taking something vital from me – something essential to my life. Every millimeter is important. I need it.

“God, please,” I whine.

Dean murmurs calming words and soothes my heated skin with his calloused hands as he pushes back inside and I throb around him, choking on vowels.

“That’s it,” he breathes, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I love it when you come on me. Do it again.”

Dean rolls me to my stomach, and the blanket slips as he plants one foot on the floor. He paws at my pants and his to get a better angle before gripping my hips and hammering into me.

He’s swearing and laughing, and all I can do is take it.

“Love you, love you, love you,” I chant, following his rhythm into the otherwise silent room.


End file.
